MAY 1869 SAMARIA MOUNTAINS, IDAHO

Jack Crampton was dead tired. His faded denim shirt was dark with sweat that dripped down his tanned neck. The weathered face was drenched as large beads of perspiration rolled from his wide forehead down through his iron colored beard, which absorbed them like a sponge.

"You're too darned old for this," Jack cursed softly to himself, as he leaned heavily on the reins, and half-begged, half-dragged Dan, his trusty burro, and only friend in the world, up the side of the mountain.

At forty-nine years, he wasn't that old, but thirty years of hard labor at the mine had aged him fifty. Jack Crampton was in remarkable shape, however, considering the abuses he had placed upon himself. His body was somewhat short at five-foot nine, but it was broad and strong. His powerful legs pumped like iron pistons up the steep slope. His arms were as hard as the rock he was digging out of the hole in the side of the mountain, and his bowed back had supported and propelled tons of earth from the bowels of the Samaria Mountains. His eyes were dark and energetic, shining with an inner determination to push on until he had plundered all that the old Crampton Stake had to offer.

His father had worked the family mine until he had died of "old age" at forty-three. Jack was of the same stock, and had become obsessed with finding the true vein, the mother lode that the majestic mountain had for so long withheld. For this reason, Jack never married and lived alone, long since chained to his desire and passion for success in the mine.

Jack slipped on a loose rock and went down hard on his left knee. He got up cursing, "Bless us, you blasted stones! C'mon Dan, let's get a move on." He pulled harder on the worn leather reins, making the burro quicken his pace. "I can feel it, Dan. We're getting so close I can taste it!" He ran his tongue over a lower molar on the left side of his firm jaw. It was solid gold. He could indeed taste it; he could feel it.

The mountain had not been totally uncaring over the years. Jack, and his family before him, had scratched out a living from her, and he did have the necessities to sustain life: food, shelter, clothing and dynamite, all of which were loaded on Dan's back as Jack continued his trek to the mine.

He never had much to show for his efforts, and while almost everyone else around him took up farming, he did have a fair nest egg of gold, stockpiled up for that day when he could no longer work the mine. He really never believed he would see that day. And he never told anyone anything about the mine, except for Dan, of course.

Jack Crampton was a cautious man. He never went the same direction two days in a row. As usual, he had left early this morning so no one would see him. As he worked his way up the final incline of one of the many gullies that cut down from the mountain peaks, he paused to catch his breath and gaze down on the valley below.

"Ain't that a beaut, Dan, old boy?" he said to the burro, in a soft and reverent voice. Jack never tired of the beauty of the Samaria Valley where he was raised, and from his vantage point at the top of "Squirrel Town Peak" he could see clear to the Rockies, as they rose up majestically at the far eastern side of the valley. Between the two mountain ranges lay a lush, green hamlet where homestead farmers had staked their claims to the sections of rich farm ground that made up the tiny communities of Samaria, Pleasantview, and Malad.

He filled his lungs with the clean, cool mountain air. "The old mountain pays in more than just gold, Dan." He looked around one more time and then turned and started down the back side of "Squirrel Town" and dropped out of view. About thirty-five feet below was an outcropping of clay stone, and just under this ledge was a small opening between two rocks, partially covered by sagebrush and dry-crested wheat grass. The opening would have been missed by anyone not knowing exactly where to look. Jack guided Dan to the side of the rocks and laid the reins over the long brown neck of the burro. Dan lowered his head and began to tear at the dry grass at the base of the rock. Jack knew that Dan would wait there for him, so he dropped onto the seat of his denim jeans and slipped between the rocks and down into an anteroom carved out of the small opening in the mountain.

His father had chanced on the cave, now the mine, in what seemed like a lifetime ago, while he was rounding up the horses for Grandpa Crampton. The small rock he saw sparkled as the sun's rays caught it and the young Crampton stopped to pick it up. It was then he spied the cave. He made a crude map of the area on the back of a flat, soft rock and came back several months later. He learned about hard-rock mining and passed this knowledge on to Jack along with the fever. That fever had burned ever since.

Jack felt the same old excitement begin to rise as he prepared to enter the mine. Today seemed different to him; there was something in the air. He couldn't quite place the feeling, but he felt rushed, and quickened his usual pace in getting everything ready. He just knew it would be a day he would not soon forget.

* * *

Evening was just beginning to settle in over Corrine, a small town near the Utah side of the Utah/Idaho border. Not much ever happened in Corrine. The farmers worked hard six days a week and on Sunday bundled the wives and children into the wagons, usually making a full load, and went to church at the Mormon Ward Meeting House; there to be extolled on the virtues of hard work, honesty, and clean living. It was quiet and peaceful in Corrine, and everyone seemed to be content with their lot in life. Everyone, except Jesse.

The leather, well-worn and broken, creaked as Jesse W. James adjusted his weight in the saddle. "It feels like I've grown into this saddle," Jesse said to the three rough looking outlaws who rode with him. "What is this place, anyway?"

"They call it Corrine and we just crossed into Utah a while ago," answered Lee Colton. Colton was a lanky cowboy, with a dirty black beard and shifty eyes. He and Joe Dolling and Bob Payne had been drifting around the West for about two years...